He broke into a beautiful smile. “How are you? How are your services going?”

I had joined the monastery a few weeks ago. Being insisted upon by a senior monk, I was here, in Radhanath Swami’s room. The monk had intended to make me feel at home. Yes, now experiencing the gentle smile of the Swami, I felt at home.

“I serve guests who visit our monastery.” I replied. I went on to explain how I liked the service, and the challenges I faced while serving. As I rambled on, at one point Radhanath Swami’s expression grew yucky, as if a stinky sewer had just burst open.  I paused. Did I speak something which I wasn’t supposed to speak? In a flash I realized. Inadvertently, I had criticized a guest.

Diverging to another topic, I saved my skin. I had heard from many that Radhanath Swami hates to speak or hear the criticism of anybody. Today I had gained a first hand experience.

–Manish Rajan

As our car headed towards Hotel Lalit, Radhanath Swami from the rear seat reminisced, “During my spiritual quest, whenever I passed through New Delhi, I stayed at the Hanuman Temple here, at Connaught Place.  I stayed in the company of sadhus.”  I was all ears. It was one of those special moments when the Swami candidly shared from his travels through India. Radhanath Swami continued, “It is my desire to walk through these streets again.” After a thoughtful pause, he added, “Somehow I never get to do what I want to do.” Hearing that, I felt pained.

Being his secretary, I took it as my duty to find a free slot for him during our 2-day stay in the nation’s capital, a slot sufficient for a walk through Connaught Place. The first day, today, was dimming into twilight, and Radhanath Swami’s weary body needed an early rest. The next day, March 2, at 9:00 a.m., Radhanath Swami was scheduled to deliver the Key note and Inaugural address at the All India Management Association’s (AIMA) second World Marketing Congress. I supposed that Radhanath Swami would be out of the conference hall by 11:00 a.m. Since our flight was at 2:00 p.m., there was a free slot, sufficiently big.

The next day things didn’t work out as I had planned. By the time the Swami got out of the conference hall, it was late; we had to rush to the airport. Our next destination was Rishikesh, where he was invited for several talks at the International Yoga Conference.

In Rishikesh, inquisitive, I further explored Radhanath Swami’s connection with Connaught Place in his autobiography The Journey Home. Apart from what he had disclosed in the car, I discovered one more connection—an intimate one. That was the place he first saw a painting of Lord Krishna. The passage in The Journey Home read,

Designed by the British, Connaught Circus was laid out in an immense circle surrounding a spacious park. Exploring the enclosed walkway, my attention was drawn to a hand-painted sign that read, “S.S. Brijabasi and Sons Religious Artwork.” Stacked on the sidewalk were hundreds of 8 x 10 prints. ……For about an hour I sat on the sidewalk searching the selection. Among the pictures was a beautiful woman with eight arms holding swords, choppers, and spears and riding on a lion, then a fantastical, somewhat pudgy man with the head of an elephant who was sitting on a mouse……..I came across a magnificent monkey, wearing a crown, whose eyes shone with devotion……….As I rummaged deeper through the stack of prints, I discovered a person with a dozen heads, each of a different species and multiple arms………

Suddenly, from out of the stack of prints appeared a personality that attracted me like no other. He had a bluish complexion, wore a peacock feather in his crown, and played a flute while posing gracefully beside a river. Behind him a white cow stared lovingly and a full moon bathed an enchanted forest in pearly light.  Spontaneous tears filled my eyes. The person in the picture seemed to fill my very soul. Why was this happening to me? I felt him calling me. But how?  It was only a painting, and of a fantastical person I didn’t even know. His name was written on the bottom in an ancient alphabet I couldn’t read.

I gave whatever money I had to the shopkeeper, but it was not enough. He smiled and gave me the picture anyway, a picture that I would not part with during the rest of my travels. Who was this person in the image? For a long time, that was to remain a mystery.

As I read, tears filled my eyes, and my determination to help him take a walk through Connaught Place heightened.

After a 4 day stay at Rishikesh, on March 7^th as I packed bags for our return trip to Mumbai, Radhanath Swami raised the topic of Connaught Place again. While returning, we had to change flights at Delhi, and there was a gap of 3 hours between landing and the next take-off. “Will it be possible for me to visit Connaught Circus during that gap?” Radhanath Swami asked. “I will work out the logistics and let you know,” I replied.  I hurriedly called a contact at New Delhi. He said it was possible. It was planned that while I waited with the luggage at the Delhi airport, Radhanath Swami would collect the Metro Rail ticket from my contact waiting outside, take the half hour train ride to Connaught Place, walk through the streets there, and then return.

We landed in New Delhi at 1:45 p.m. The connecting flight to Mumbai was at 5:00 p.m. Everything seemed perfectly as per plan. But as I dialled the number of my contact who waited outside the terminus, Radhanath Swami interrupted, “Should I really go? Tomorrow is the Gaur Poornima Festival, and I have to discourse. I might well use this time for preparing.”  What could I say? For him it was duty calling again. Thousands in Mumbai would be visiting the temple the next day to attend the Birthday Festival of Lord Chaitanya. And his lecture was the sought after inspirational event for the pilgrims.   

We searched for a quite place, and Radhanath Swami pored over the Chaitanya Charitamrita, the biography of Lord Chaitanya, whom the Gaudiya Vaishnavas believe to be Lord Krishna himself. At 5: 00 p.m. we boarded the flight that brought us back to Mumbai.

The next day Radhanath Swami discoursed 4 hours non-stop from the Chaitanya Charitamrita, as thousands listened in rapt attention. Later, many proclaimed this to be one of the most inspiring festivals of their life. As I listened to them, I was distracted by burning questions. When is the next time we will pass through New Delhi?!! And even then, will Radhanath Swami be able to do what he really wants to do?

Vikram Arora

“I am heading to Mayapur tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“To submerge the ashes of my deceased father in the Ganges.”

“When did that happen?….” He stopped. His expression grew grave.

“Ten days ago. I had informed your secretary when my father was on his death bed. Didn’t he convey you?” I looked around. Vraj, the secretary, wasn’t accompanying him.

“No,” he replied. I saw he felt sorry. “I shall get back to you,” he said, and hurried into his car. The vehicle disappeared into the exhaust fumes of Mumbai traffic.

Later, Vraj came searching for me, and related what transpired after Radhanath Swami boarded his vehicle an hour ago. Radhanath Swami had called back to the temple to inquire from Vraj of the lost information. Vraj replied that updates about my father were duly sms-ed well on time. Radhanath Swami then searched all the sms he had received in the past ten days, but this sms was nowhere in the inbox! The two concluded that it was lost in the outage that had hit mobile networks ten days ago.

Radhanath Swami, Vraj said, now wanted me to give him a call.

“I am sorry. The message somehow didn’t reach me,” I heard Radhanath Swami’s apologetic voice on the phone. “If I knew, I would have given a call to your father as he lay on his death bed, and chanted Hare Krishna to him,” he continued. “But don’t worry. Right now I am chanting for your father on my prayer beads. And in my mind I am submerging his ashes in the holy Ganges.”

Two decades ago, my father felt a little pained thinking he lost his only son to the monastic order. Little did he know he had gained a second son, a pure soul who would be the first to submerge his ashes in the Ganges for his assured salvation.

–Shailesh 

Taking a walk through the ashram corridors–for no particular reason–I  met Radhanath Swami on the way. In reflex I struck a conversation—a long premeditated one.

“I have been unable to follow one of your instructions,” I effused.

“What is that?”

“Seven years ago when I had joined the ashram you had instructed me to keep sanctified food and water in the bird feeder every day.” I was referring to the bird feeder in the garden; Vrindavan Forest, the garden in our ashram backyard, serves as an oasis for birds of downtown Mumbai. “I haven’t been able to follow that instruction, sometimes circumstantially and sometimes due to personal negligence.” By now tears of sincerity were brimming in my eyes—and my greedy mind began to anticipate a sympathetic embrace from Radhanath Swami, the warmth of which I had experienced innumerable times.

Surprisingly, he remained stoic through my ramble. “You should do it,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone and walked away.

It was unlike his kind demeanor, for he wanted to teach me a lesson: determined perseverance in following instructions is essential for spiritual progress, while sneak-out excuses are detrimental.

Months later when Radhanath Swami’s Autobiography The Journey Home was published, a passage in it struck me:

It is said that a saintly personality can be softer than a rose or harder than a thunderbolt. This morning, one guest made excuse after excuse to defend his immoralities and spiritual weaknesses. Srila Prabhupada listened, then his voice rose like thunder, “If you are weak, rectify it. If you have no determination, you have no character. What makes you different from an animal?” The man shrunk like a punctured balloon. Bowing down, he promised to do what he knew was right. When required, Srila Prabhupada could be very strict to emphasize the urgency of a person’s predicament. Like a scalpel in the hands of an expert surgeon, his strong words cut only to heal. Or as he himself explained, “A spiritual teacher is required to have the courage of a British General and the heart of a Bengali mother.”

Gajanan Bhat

I requested a friend, a very famous Radio Jockey, to have Radhanath Swami as a featured guest on his show. He felt it was an honor.  We fixed the date 3 August 2009 for the interview.

When August came closer I realized that the interview date lay amidst a cramped schedule: on 1^st August Radhanath Swami was to arrive in Mumbai where thousands awaited his audience; on the 2^nd was the Sunday Program at Radhagopinath temple where he was scheduled to discourse; and then on, he would be busy with the upcoming grand India Book Launch of The Journey Home that was to be held only days later. Thus 3^rd August, the day fixed for the radio show—had got crushed in the middle.  I grew tense.  Pulling Radhanath Swami out of his busy schedule for the Radio Show was to cause him strain—and I hated to do that.

Perhaps he sensed my tension. And his soft heart raced for every opportunity to relieve me of that. On 2^nd, I visited him with a proposal: was it okay if the RJ came to his room to interview him, rather than he having to go to the studio? After thinking for a while, he responded, “It will be better if you could liberate me from this place.”  Through that one line he liberated me from my thought that going to the studio caused him inconvenience. It was decided that we would stick to our schedule and drive to the studio the next day.

The next day as we rode, the car was heated up with discussions about the upcoming book launch. I was silent, while remorse lingered in my heart. He is already strained. Perhaps I should have rescheduled the show in a way that didn’t cause him extra strain. Out of the blue, Radhanath Swami quipped, “And towards the end of the book launch, Sankirtan shall perform solo dance with spotlights focused on him.” His body rocked in laughter, as everyone in the car joined him in the joke; all knew how shy I was. Seeing him laugh, I was elated. Thus in a moment, Radhanath Swami had the remorse in me ebb away.

–Sankirtan Das